If you're on social media, especially the Instagram and TikTok book communities, you might have seen the latest rage-bait trend going around. It has sparked arguments, people agreeing and disagreeing, shaming and other, quite frankly awful behaviour from both sides. I get why people are angry, I really do. But when we turn on each other like this, it doesn't help everyone. Trends are often fuelled by anger from communities, causing division in an already divided world.
So do you know what trend I am talking about?
Probably from the title of this post you do.
That authors using "big words" is ableist and that we should stop doing it.
I know, right? At face value, this seems pretentious. Absolutely insane. But when we step back, we can see a discussion opening if we get past the mean girl vibes and shaming of people who actually do need help.
The Word That Broke the Internet... Scrying
Apparently, the word “scrying” is now a big word. Unknown to the masses.
If you’ve been anywhere near BookTok, Instagram, or Threads recently, you’ve probably seen it: people arguing that authors are being ableist for using “big words.” That complex vocabulary excludes readers. That books should be simplified in the name of accessibility.
And ironically, a lot of this conversation exploded over a single word. Scrying.
A niche, slightly archaic, witchcraft-rooted word meaning a form of divination, seeing visions, often through reflective surfaces like water or crystal and even a black mirror. As a witch myself, I knew instantly what that word meant, and I did think, off the bat, how do people think like this? Until I remembered I know this word because of who I am.
Still, that one word was enough to trigger think pieces, hot takes, and entire comment sections debating whether authors need to “do better” and make language more accessible.
As an author, that’s already frustrating enough, thinking, I like my "big words." And not because they make me look smart, but because they encompass my world and characters in such a way that they bring it together on paper.
But as someone living in a fully neurodivergent household?
I’m going to be deeply honest and vulnerable. It feels deeply patronising and hurtful to think that myself and my children are too dumb to understand and learn a new word. And how would they feel, my kids, hearing that? It would be defeating. Kids listen to grown-ups. So if someone older than them tells them this, they believe they can't.
Thankfully, my kids aren't allowed on social media.
I live in both Worlds of This Argument
Here is the part I think gets lost amongst all the anger from both sides. We forget that we're all different. Even those who are not neurodivergent read differently and process language differently.
People always take their own little world as it is, and that's how it should be, often taking one position on either side of the river:
- Language is too hard and needs to be simplified for all
- Or, language is easy, and people just need to try harder
But in reality, there is no one side to this. There are stepping stones in the river so we can all meet in the middle and learn.
My reality doesn't fit in either of the boxes people are arguing from.
I'm ADHD, and one thing I got from that was hyperlexia. I was the kid who read and wrote earlier than all my peers. I loved stories and how books made me feel. And yes, I got burned out and stopped, but it didn't stop how my brain works now as an adult. I read fast, type fast, although, my hands aren't fast enough to keep up with my brain. And even with auditory processing issues, I still process the written language faster than most.
My household though? My kids and partner... That is a totally different ball park.
- My eldest is AuDHD and dyslexic
- My partner is dyslexic
- My second is heavily dyslexic
In fact, I only have two out of my five children who aren't.
The fact I home educate my children too means I don't speak on reading and writing from one single perspective. I live with both and teach both.
I get to see:
- the brain flying through words without effort
- a brain that can't pick up on reading like a typical person
- one who gets it on first glance
- and one child who cried because she thought she was stupid
Every single day.
And because of that, I can say this with complete confidence::
Not once has the solution been to make the language smaller.
What Actually Happens When We Read
Let's make this practical. When someone in my family comes across a word, like "scrying," and sometimes even bigger words. Other times, a word you or I may think they should know. Here's what happens...
They pause, try a few times. Then recognise they don't know, or can't sound it out. And then they do something.
Either:
- if they have a phone, use it to find out the definition
- come to me and ask
- or I tap on the word on my Kindle and read the definition
- If no one knows, we learn something together
That’s it. That is the entire process.
There's no feeling dumb.
No outrage.
No assumption that the word itself shouldn’t exist.
Just… learning.
Because here’s the thing that keeps getting missed:
Struggling with a word is not the same as being excluded from language. It’s part of engaging with it. Reading opens the door to a world of possibilities and learning. Leading you down a path of curiosity.
No author sits down to write and thinks, "hmm, how can I make this too hard to read?" or "what word today will I use to show my intelligence?"
We sit down, and we write. We use words that speak to us, that tell the story better than an extra 50 simple words. We write to tell you the story we fell in love with.
Neurodivergence Does Not Mean Inability
As someone with ADHD raising dyslexic children and living with a dyslexic partner, this is the part that matters most to me:
Being dyslexic or neurodivergent does not mean:
- you’re incapable of learning new words
- you can’t enjoy complex books
- or you need everything simplified to participate
What it actually means is:
- you might read more slowly
- you might need to pause
- you might take a different route to understanding
- you might need a bit more help
All of that is okay, and the destination? It is still reachable to most.
And that’s why this whole debate feels so off to me. I will admit, when I first heard it, I was perplexed and a little angry at it. I guess, or at least it comes to a conclusion that perhaps these people were trying to defend us, but not actually understanding.
Because when people say:
“We shouldn’t use words like this because it’s ableist”
what I hear, whether it’s intended or not, is:
“Disabled readers can’t handle this.”
And I live with disabled readers.
They can handle it.
They do every single day when we sit down to learn. Creating a safe space for them to learn and make mistakes is how they learn and grow. Not by saying "oh, this word is too hard lets delete and move on. Ignore it."
My kids know they can mispronounce something wrong, spell it wrong, or just not be able to get it, because I am there. And mum will help them learn. Even my partner who tries to read every night before he goes to sleep.
Surely that's what we should be doing instead?
The Difference Between Support and Infantilisation
This one is a huge issue among people who attempt to support us, neurodivergent people, without actually stopping and listening to us. There’s a vital distinction that seems to be getting blurred online:
- Support helps people access something
- Infantilisation lowers expectations and removes challenge
It's why there is a huge difference between equality and equity.
Equality gives eveyone the ability to get hold of books. Equity is providing them resources so they can read them.
Support with equity looks like:
- audiobooks
- dyslexia-friendly fonts
- built-in dictionaries
- patient explanations
- time and space to process
- braille
Infantilisation looks like this:
“Let’s remove the complexity entirely so you don’t have to engage with it.”
Support looks like this:
"I can help you with that, let's read it together." or "Here's x tool to help you read better."
Those are not the same thing.
One says, we believe you can get there and we can help you get there. The other says, we don’t think you can, so we’ll lower the bar, and all readers with your needs.
And if you ask a lot of disabled readers which one they want?
It’s not the second one. The latter makes us feel like we're stupid and reinforces what we have been told all through our lives. You are being ableist while trying to advocate for us.
A Word Like “Scrying” Isn’t Random
Let’s go back to the word that started all this. Well, I think it's just the example that one user used amongst a list.
“Scrying” isn’t complicated for the sake of being complicated. If you want to put it into perspective. Here in the UK, the word scrying is a key stage 4 level word. Meaning it's learned around ages 14-16. We study texts that contain it for our GCSE's and so on.
In the USA, it is an intermediate to upper-level vocabulary word. But it is still around the same age range. However, I can't speak on whether the schools in america work like ours.
Anyway, back to the word scrying. It's a specific word.
It carries meaning tied to:
- folklore
- magical practice
- fantasy worldbuilding
- historical language
You can replace it with something simpler, like:
“seeing visions in a reflective surface”
But when you do that, you lose:
- tone
- atmosphere
- precision
- immersion
Writing isn’t just about being understood at the simplest possible level.
It’s about creating:
- feeling
- texture
- authenticity
And sometimes that requires words that aren’t instantly familiar. But we have to remember that it's okay not to know a word. It's all an opportunity to learn more.
The Tool Argument
We also need to be realistic about the world we live in now. We are not in a pre-digital age. The majority of us have access to a basic education. In which many authors keep their reading level down to accommodate. It's something that is widely recommended to us. To keep it between 6th and 10th grade reading levels for the USA. Key stage 3-4 for the UK.
And then, to top it all off, we are in a digital era, again, where a lot of us have access to even the most basic technology. Although with the current economy, I do understand that may not be the case. However, for those complaining on social media, they do.
Readers today have:
- instant dictionaries on e-readers
- smartphones within reach
- voice assistants
- visual aids
- accessibility apps
You can go from “I don’t know this word” to “I understand it” in minutes.
That matters.
Because accessibility today isn’t just about removing difficulty —
it’s about providing ways through it.
And those ways already exist.
The Real Value of Not Knowing
There’s something else that keeps getting lost in this debate. Not knowing a word is not a failure. It does not mean you are unintelligent.
It’s an opportunity.
Every reader, every single one, has experienced:
- hitting an unfamiliar word
- guessing from context
- or looking it up
That’s how vocabulary grows. That’s how language evolves on a personal level. It's one thing writers are told to do. Read, read, and read some more.
If we remove every unfamiliar word in the name of comfort, we don’t make reading more inclusive.
We make it:
- smaller
- flatter
- less rich
And ultimately, less rewarding for everyone. As well as removing the opportunity to learn more.
If I Have an Advantage, I Use It. And So Should You
This is the part I come back to again and again.
For those of us who read quickly, process language easily. That is an advantage we have. It makes language feel easy to us. No one else.
Not everyone in my household has that. Not everyone in the world has that.
So what should we do with it?
We don’t ask the world to change for us. We don't ask a dyslexic person to read better, and they don't ask us to dim our writing.
We work together.
We explain words.
We answer questions.
We help bridge the gap.
Together we can close the literacy epidemic, and pull people up, insread of crushing them down.
Because, if anyone has an advantage, it’s our responsibility to use it to help, not to demand it disappears and belittle those who struggle.
And that, to me, is what true accessibility looks like:
- shared understanding
- mutual support
- and learning that moves in both directions
What This Debate Is Really About
At its core, this conversation isn’t just about vocabulary.
It’s about:
- discomfort vs exclusion
- effort vs accessibility
- and how we define fairness in learning spaces
But somewhere along the way, the conversation shifted.
And now we’re seeing:
- personal frustration framed as systemic harm
- preference presented as moral obligation
- and disability used as justification, sometimes by people who don’t live with it
That’s why the backlash has been so strong.
Because people recognise something isn’t quite right and no one seems to be able to place a finger on it because of the anger they feel at either staement.
We all need to take a step back, breathe and think.
I mean, I am completely aware that I am nudging my nose in this when I don't have to. But I feel, as an author and neurodivergent, I should speak up. Spread kindness instead of shame. Help pull people up rather than push them down more.
Disabled Readers Are Not a Singularity
Another important point. There is no such thing as a single “disabled reader” experience. In fact, even yourself, when you sit down to read, will have the same exact experience when reading. Some days you might be too tired and only manage a page. Others, you'll zoom through. And your fast reading may seem slow, or at the speed of light to others.
Everything is subjective.
Some dyslexic readers:
- prefer audiobooks
- love complex fantasy
- enjoy expanding vocabulary
And then you have the ADHD readers who:
- need quiet to read
- might need to read a paragraph again because they got distracted
- but might also need a backup stimulus to read
Does every dyslexic, autistic, or ADHD reader do this, or prefer that? Nope. We're all different.
Others prefer simpler, more direct language. Many like to read complex stories and worlds. Others love political. Just like we all have a preferred genre.
All are valid.
But neither group gets to dictate what all writing should become.
Because literature isn’t one-size-fits-all.
And it shouldn’t be.
Final Thoughts: Let Books Be What They Are
Books are not meant to meet us at our easiest level. They're supposed to open our eyes, bring us into different worlds, make us feel, and cry and laugh.
They are meant to:
- challenge us
- stretch us
- give us language we didn’t have before
Sometimes that starts with a single unfamiliar word. Like Scrying. Where you look it up and find out it has a long, long history, built into the fabric of our society. That people still do it, and practice witchcraft.
And that’s not a problem. That’s the point.
So no, using complex words is not inherently ableist. But assuming disabled readers can’t engage with them? That’s where the real problem begins. Because we are not incapable. We are not fragile. And we do not need the richness of language taken away on our behalf.
It would be doing everyone a disservice. Not just the neurodivergent communities. But the typical. And the kids who love to read, or the adults just getting back into reading.
We can't make writing simple, but we can make it so everyone learns and has access to grow.
Literature isn’t meant to shrink to meet us.
It’s meant to help us grow.
That is all...
Just before I go, there are a few charities that can help more people, children mainly, be better at reading. Many of them you can donate to, or start fundraisers of your own to help raise money and awarness.
Consider leving your own thoughts on this topic taking over the book and writing spaces. Do you agree, disagree or feel another way?
Until Next Time